


Familiar Faces

by mizzymouse



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: F/M, Fist Fights, Fluff, Politics, Post-AMoL, Post-Canon, Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5297009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzymouse/pseuds/mizzymouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perrin and Mat get sent to Caemlyn on errands for their wives, but run into someone unexpected. Set post-AMoL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Familiar Faces

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank starforgedsteel on tumblr for the prompt that inspired this fic. It ended up longer than originally expected, and pretty cute. Kudos/comments are always appreciated :)

“Faile, are you sure I’m the best person to go? Elayne and I didn’t exactly get along last time I was in Caemlyn.”

“Yes, husband of mine, you are the best person to go. _You_ are Steward of the Two Rivers, not I.” _For the fifth time, you woolhead, Elayne isn’t going to bite your head off_ , she thought. Faile knew that the Andoran queen’s temper was more of an act than a truth. Saldeans were famed for their tempers, after all.

Perrin sighed and went back to folding shirts and placing them into a chest. Despite his earlier protests, Faile had convinced him to take a number of retainers with him to Caemlyn. It simply wasn’t respectable to show up to an audience with a queen without retainers or manservants to keep him presentable, even if the “retainers” were only Two Rivers boys eager to see Caemlyn. Elayne had sent a messenger a week ago, via gateway, informing them of some event of great importance to Andor and the Two Rivers. Faile suspected it was something to do with mining in the Mountains of Mist or prices of tabac and wool. Either way, it was some dull administrative matter that Elayne needed Perrin’s input on. He would be gone less than a week, thanks to the gateways, and Faile had hopes that he would remember the upcoming _shanna’har_ —it was their second anniversary, according to Saldean custom, regardless of when exactly they had been wed—and bring her something back from the capital.

Speaking of _shanna’har_ … She wandered across the room to where Perrin was standing and wrapped her arms around his waist, surprisingly slender compared to the broadness of his chest. She sighed contently, resting her cheek against his back. He chuckled quietly, still folding shirts.

“Faile, wife of mine, you know as well as I that I won’t be leaving until the morning, so there’s no reason to hold me quite so tightly.” She could feel the rumble of his voice though his chest, and that husky quality whose meaning she knew all too well. He chuckled again as she burrowed farther into his back, hands migrating to the hem of his shirt, then back up under it to rake her nails over his chest, tangling her fingers in the thick hair there. The action had its intended affect, and he hastily abandoned the piles of shirts in favor of reciprocating Faile’s affections. He might be leaving in the morning, but the morning was a long way away…

* * *

“Knotai!”

“Blood and ashes,” Mat muttered under his breath, “How many times do I have to tell her not to call me that?”

“Knotai, I have need of you!” Tuon called out again. Her voice never changed in tone, never elevated to anxiety or panic, only retained a note of resolution and expectation. She needed him for something and expected him to come, and come quickly, not that he would. That’s what happened when you married an empress. _May she live forever_.

Mat scowled. That statement came too quickly to his mind, now, with all the time she forced him to spend on political matters. Not that he didn’t wish she would live forever. He loved her, really, and would not wish her a premature death. It was just silly. Nobody could live forever.

The soft shuffle of Tuon’s robes on the floor tiles stopped short as she found Mat. He wasn’t hiding, not really. He was sitting on their bed, in plain sight, reading a book. His legs were crossed under him as he leaned over a great tome, pieces of dark hair tumbling into his face as it fell out of the loose bun at the crown of his head. The book was one of Loial’s drafts of _The Dragon Reborn_ , bound in large slabs of wood but written in a human-sized hand. Mat had offered to help the Ogier edit it and check for factual errors, and he had sent a copy via gateway several days ago. Mat had taken the afternoon off, ignoring his princely duties in favor of reading. Late afternoon light streaked through the windows, and he scowled again. He had been here much longer than he had thought. No wonder Tuon was looking for him.

The expression on Tuon’s face, upon finding the Price of the Ravens, couldn’t be called relief. It was closer to subtile annoyance, like that given by a teacher to an exceptionally bothersome pupil. Mat just grinned at her, one of his best, and hoped he hadn’t missed out on something too important. He closed the book with an audible _thud_ and leaped to his feet.

“Yes, precious? What can I do for you?” He only used that nickname when she called him Knotai. He thought that was fair, especially since they’d had the names argument too many times to count. Tuon offered a predatory grin in return. That wasn’t good.

“I am sending you on an errand to Caemlyn.” The name, familiar to him, sounded foreign in her slurring Seanchan accent. “The Queen Elayne Trakand has requested some information regarding trade and farming production, and you are going to the audience in my place.” She grimaced around the word queen. “It is a proper duty for the Prince of the Ravens.”

Mat grinned again, more genuinely this time. Any opportunity to get out of Ebou Dar meant a few days spent dicing in taverns. An errand to Caemlyn meant dicing in taverns with Talmanes and some of the Redarms, who had based the Band in the capital on Elayne’s suggestion. A short meeting with Elayne wouldn’t be enough to spoil the outing. He bounced on his heels, eager to be off. Not that he would enjoy being away from Tuon. He would genuinely miss her, but he certainly wouldn’t miss being a Seanchan noble.

“You will be leaving at first light, by gateway. The requested documents will be finished by then, and you are expected to be back within a week. I am trusting you to this errand on your own, since I do not trust sending da’covale with you.” Mat shook his head in amazement. Alone, for a week, in Caemlyn! Maybe the Dark One’s luck was still with him. He leap across the room to plant a kiss on Tuon’s cheek. A chaste one, to be sure. She was picky about his methods of showing affection. She reached up to curl one of his loose strands of hair around her finger, then pulled gently at it, dragging him down into a proper kiss. Oh, he would miss her for sure, but first light was a long way off, and he would have plenty of time to miss her later.

 

* * *

A young servant, her livery bearing the rose of Andor, led Mat down a wide hallway lined with summer tapestries. She kept glancing back at him as she navigated the maze-like palace. Something about the bulging leather folder he carried, marked with a Seanchan sigil, probably confused her. Maybe it was the _ashandarei_ resting on his shoulder, the weapon he still didn’t let far out of his sight. Or his eyepatch. Tuon had handed it to him that morning, and he hadn’t bothered to check as to which one it was. Knowing Tuon, it was probably covered in more jewels than the servant had ever seen in her life. He scowled to himself, but the girl must have noticed, since she quickened her pace. After several flights of stairs and too many turns to count, she stopped in front of a set of plain wooden doors somewhere high up in the palace. She knocked, then stuck her head though and muttered something to the occupants. The door swung open and Mat was beckoned inside before the door shut with a slight _thud_ behind him.

Elayne, her golden hair loose around her shoulders, sat sipping tea across a small table from Perrin, who was probably the last person Mat expected to see. The bearded Two Rivers man was holding a fine Sea Folk porcelain teacup, absurdly small in his large hands. Elayne rose as Mat entered the room, looking surprised but pleased.

“Matrim Cauthon! I requested some information from the Seanchan, but didn’t expect you to be the one of bring it. Come, sit, we’ll talk politics.” She pulled a chair over from the corner of the room, which Mat collapsed into, resting his _ashandarei_ against the back of the chair.

“Nice eyepatch.”

“Nice beard, looks itchy.”

The two friends burst into simultaneous laughter. Mat must still have his luck for something like this to happen.

* * *

Several hours later, Perrin and Mat followed a different liveried servant out of the palace and made their way slowly towards Low Caemlyn. Perrin, it turned out, had taken a room at an inn instead of staying in the palace, and Mat had asked a servant to have his belongings transported to the same inn and another room arranged. It was early in the day still, and Mat had promised to help Perrin shop for Faile’s _shanna’har_ gift. Not that Perrin thought Mat would be very helpful. After visiting several shops and annoying several shopkeepers, Perrin had still not found anything he thought appropriate for Faile.

“Does Faile prefer gold, Perrin, or silver?”

“Light, I don’t know! I never pay much attention to her jewelry. And she always looks lovely.”

“Well, do you know what colors she prefers to wear? Or what she looks best in?”

“She looks best in everything.”

“Perrin, you’re not being helpful.”

“Neither are you!”

“At least I know what gifts my wife would like!”

After a few sharp glances from the shopkeeper, they decided to leave before they were tossed out. The streets steadily became more crowded as they walked towards the inn and farther away from High Caemlyn. Though the sun was still high, it was well past midday, and the inns were starting to fill with those out for an evening of drinking and gambling. Mat pulled Perrin down a side street, searching for an appropriate inn where they could start their evening along with the rest of the city’s residents. A long day of politics and arguments heightened the desire Mat already had for ale and dicing, and he was searching for one of the inns he had once frequented with Talmanes and the Redarms. But, while darting through the crowded streets, Perrin stopped short and grabbed at Mat’s sleeve.

“Hey, watch the coat! It’s silk, and you of all—“

“I think I just saw someone.”

“Which someone? I know a lot of someones.” Mat directed a sheepish grin at Perrin before noticing the dark cast to his friend’s face. The taller man’s yellow eyes narrowed as he searched through the crowd.

“There! Mat, follow me!” Perrin took off at a sprint, far more agile than expected for his size. While he dodged effortlessly through the throng, Mat spend far more time bumping into people and muttering apologies as he tried to keep his friend in sight. By the time Mat caught up to him, Perrin had turned into a dark alley, a few streets away from the bulk of the crowd. He had pushed a tall, pale man into the alley with him, and was trying to grapple his walking staff—or perhaps it was a quarterstaff—away from him.

Mat spun his _ashandarei_ , adrenaline pushing away his tiredness. Who was this man, and why was Perrin fighting him? Why did he look so familiar? Something about the width of his shoulders and strength of his jaw tugged at Mat’s memory.

The mysterious man managed to pull his staff free from Perrin’s grasp, shoving his opponent against the far wall of the alley. He spun to meet Mat, deflecting the first blow of his _ashandarei_ with the ease of a practiced fighter. Who still fought with quarterstaves?

Mat swung again, low this time, but was countered with a flick of the long staff that shifted into a blow aimed at Mat’s chest. He blocked, the wood hitting with a hard crack, and spun again. Only to be countered again. _Blood and ashes, he's good!_

Back and forth they went, neither gaining any advantage, until Mat missed a blow entirely and stumbled across the paving stones. The missing eye threw off Mat’s field of vision, and his opponent had hidden a movement in his blind spot. Mat braced for a blow, now that he was exposed, but none found him. Instead, a savage growl sounded behind him. Perrin must have gotten his bearings.

“Perrin,” Mat shouted, hoping his friend would hear him through the commotion he was making, “Who is this? Why are we fighting him?”

“Moridin, the one who killed Rand!” Perrin spat the words, still trying to take the man’s weapon from him.

Moridin. Yes, that was why he was so familiar. The man at the Last Battle, who had somehow been involved in Rand’s death. Why was he in Caemlyn, and, more importantly, why had Perrin cornered him in this alley?

By the time Mat had managed to regain is footing and spin around, _ashandarei_ held point-first, Moridin had seized his weapon from Perrin and held it in a protective stance. Perrin growled again, low in his throat.

“Perrin. Mat.” Moridin’s voice was complete calm, not what was expected from a man ambushed in an alley. His too-blue eyes searched Perrin’s face, then turned to Mat, who hoisted his weapon protectively.

“What are you doing here?” Perrin, in contrast, spoke with anger. His eyes practically glowed with predatory rage. This man had killed his friend! He deserved no mercy, but the part of Perrin that still held on to rational thought wanted answers.

“I did not want to meet you both under circumstances like these, but I guess I should explain.” He lowered his staff slightly, muscles relaxing. “He’s not dead. His body is, but he’s not. I’m him. I’m Rand. It was Moridin who died on that pyre.”

Perrin looked as though someone had punched him in the stomach. He jerked out of his wolfish stance, eyes wide in confusion. Mat, too, didn’t know what to do. The ashandarei dropped from his hands and clattered on the paving stones. The circumstances of the Last Battle had been extraordinary, but Rand al’Thor had most definitely died. Mat had watched his pyre burn, tendrils of flame reaching high above the valley beside the great mountain which had been called Shayol Ghul. When the Last Battle had ceased, Mat’s visions of Perrin and Rand had vanished as well, along with most of his luck. His _ta’veren_ powers had greatly lessened, and he had thought some of that was caused by Rand’s death. The gifts from the Aelfinn and Eelfinn still remained, and he was still uncommonly lucky, but not at the same degree as before. The dice no longer rolled in his head, and his fate seemed to be his own. These were the truths of life in the Fourth Age: Mat was back to being mostly average, Perrin remained the same as he was, and Rand was dead.

Perrin was the first to move, narrowing his eyes in suspicion and stepping slowly towards Moridin, who backed up a pace, scrubbing a hand through his dark hair and chewing on his bottom lip. Rand had done that, Mat remembered. When they were boys in the Two Rivers, they would get caught playing pranks, and Rand had certain tics when he was nervous. Tam al’Thor would be called in to chastise them and Rand would stand still, weathering his father’s anger, entirely calm besides his teeth worrying at his lower lip. When Tam let him go, he would sulk off to find Mat or Perrin, occasionally pulling a hand through his red hair in a display of anxiety.

That staff that he still held in one hand looked surprisingly like a simple walking staff, but the man wielded it with a level of skill and particular style that said it was actually a quarterstaff. Not many still fought with those, but Two Rivers men often sparred with them for sport. Mat, Perrin, and Rand had trained with them as boys and often competed against each other at Bel Tine. And the way Moridin had matched Mat blow for blow… Not many could accomplish that. Mat had swept even the most skilled blademasters off their feet with a quarterstaff.

Finally, the pieces began to click together like a blacksmith’s puzzle finally coming undone. Elayne, Aviendha, and Min not mourning as Rand lay dying at Shayol Ghul, then leaving his funeral partway through. Nynaeve and Cadsuane’s knowing looks at each other and at the three women. Moridin disappearing as the funeral took place, even though one of the Forsaken merited guarding. Nobody being sent out to look for him, not even Aes Sedai. Min, who still remained in Ebou Dar with Tuon and Mat, was largely silent when Rand was discussed. Her trips to Caemlyn to see Elayne and Aviendha. And her occasional nighttime visitors in the Tarasin Palace. Not that Mat kept tabs on his friend, but she was very bad at keeping secrets.

Moridin—Rand?—shot glances at Mat and Perrin, who were both examining him. Slowly, Perrin’s eyes opened wide, and Mat muttered a curse.

“It is you… How…?” Perrin whispered as Mat cursed again, this time something in the Old Tongue. It sounded vulgar, and Moridin’s brow raised in surprise. He spoke, though, quietly and calmly.

“I… I am not sure, honestly. We were connected on some level, and I think he knew my body would die and wanted to die with it. Elan never treasured his life or desired the virtual immortality the Power gave him. Somehow, as the Bore was sealed, he made us switch. I am here, all of me, including the part that was Lews Therin. Moridin is dead, though I wear his face.”

Mat found himself believing every word, however improbable it seemed. There was simply no other explanation. Rand was alive, standing before him, looking like someone else. He was too astonished to move. Perrin acted first, stepping forward again to envelope Rand in a bear hug. After a moment, he stepped back again, clapping his friend on the shoulders and smiling wide. Mat still stood there, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Mat? Are you okay? I know it’s a lot to take in, but…”

“Blood and bloody ashes, I know it’s you, but it’s still hard to believe.” Mat’s tone quickly changed from amazement to annoyance to anger. “How come you didn’t tell us? It’s been a year, you bloody fool! A year! And we thought you were dead! Even Min didn’t tell me, and she’s awful at keeping quiet about things like this.”

Mat continued to splutter as Rand walked towards him, arms outstretched, then covered the smaller man in a hug.

“I missed you too, Mat.”


End file.
